


Cosmic Roses

by prettylittledarkstar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Enchantress, F/M, Healer, Magic-Users, Reylo - Freeform, Witch - Freeform, Witchcraft, eventual smut i suppose, it's kinda dark?, maz is a badass witch, not in star wars universe, our lovers are in the grey for this one, rey is a healer, so is Rey, sort of a slow burn, unconventional witchcraft, witchcraft and reylo. what more could you need?, witchcraft reylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-11-19 09:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11310441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittledarkstar/pseuds/prettylittledarkstar
Summary: [TEMPORARILY ON HOLD]first there was one,born by the bay,in a big house,in the royalist way.then came the next,in the early summer day,known by a few,with fate in her way.one bore no fear,the other no hate,each to each other,the loveliest mate.as fate closed her eyes,and kissed them to death,the lovers threw knives,for her throat's dying breath.for as strong as fate is,some will have it their way,like the one born in june,and the one by the bay.





	1. Witchling

**Author's Note:**

> Excitment, my friends. Please enjoy!
> 
> love, anya

She was too little.

She had too many questions about too many things.

She never wore shoes, even to roam her gardens.

She sighed too often, often and too happily.

All of these things and more she heard daily from outsiders and wanderers. But she never let her step falter, never let her gaze be anything less than gentle and powerful. For the spirits believed in her, and so did the creatures that tread the rich soil of her small realm.

Upon her dainty head rested a crown of rose quartz, wrapped in spun silver and blessed by the sun. She often wore her hair different ways and weaved different things into her chestnut locks with nimble fingers, embellishing them with jewel or pastel toned flowers or wooden beads or pretty feathers. The clothes on her body, she sewed by hand, and dyed the fabrics herself. There was never a time when she didn't find great pleasure in mixing different plants to create a color of her own, or drawing her needle through flowing fabric, or lightly humming to herself as a cool breeze drifted in through the open window of her modest riverside cottage.

Unanimously anointed to lead as a gentle princess, Kira Rey was a charming young woman who flitted around her people like a bird and her chicks, protective and doting. As a devout earth witch, healer, and protector of whimsical beings, she searched for joy in the smallest of things and found solace in her acre-long garden, which consisted richly of thriving trees, bushes, plants, and animals of all sorts. Her kind character and sweet voice made her everyone's favorite, and however humble she was, she deservingly received compassionate affection from all of her beloved people, which satisfied her more than any material wealth ever could.

Lovely Kira Rey was a daydreamer by nature, often dreaming about the day she would have a family of her own and a lover to hold her at night, as the early stages of her life left her without a home or a family. But tragedy never hardened her soul, never once made her bitter or spiteful. Instead, she learned from the pain she experienced and turned it into bright, burning energy that she used to keep her community thriving like a well cared-for plant. To soothe the longing she held that bore an empty hole into her soul, she remedied it with the care taking of the children within her ambit by taking them in groups and teaching them important skills like literacy, cleanliness, and minimality. She taught the older ones how to use herbs for cooking and healing, but never revealed her most well kept secrets about the spells she cast to heal the sick and cure a corrupt soul.

Though a dreamer and a gentle being, she was also very much a powerhouse of strength. As a child, she had been left to fend for herself, and after many years of self training and preservation, she grew up and found herself as a lover and a fighter, only wanting what was best for her people.

She contemplated these things and more as she stood in front of her stove, stirring the raspberry syrup she was making and humming an old wanderer's tune.

"Rey?" The rich, confident voice of her companion Finn drifted through the room and she lifted her attention away from the pot she was stirring. His warm brown eyes connected with her hazel ones. "You have a visitor."

Rey wiped her hands off, turned, and leaned against the counter to take a look at the doorway. Finn stepped aside to reveal a pint-sized woman of decrepit age, her dark skin wrinkled and timeworn. Her eyes sparkled with the brightest light of mystery and omniscience, a trait developed after living so long and witnessing so much. She stepped forward before hobbling to the small table that sat in Rey's kitchen, and Finn left to tend to other business. Her wristlets and necklaces jingled with every move she made, and it gave her an aura of whimsicality which brightened the room considerably. She wore a chain with tiny bottles tied to it, each one containing a different potion or herb.

Many times before, the stout woman had visited, and though she said didn't play favorites, Rey fell into her number one spot. She frequented Rey's dominion of Guérisse at least once a month, often coming more and staying longer during the winter months. She brought with her gifts of herbs from far away places and occasional pieces of an ancient map that Rey had been collecting over the years.

"Kira Rey," the woman said with a hint of mischief, and it was then that Rey noticed the small box in the woman's ring clad fingers. She sat heavily in the wicker chair next to the window, the wood creaking slightly as she did so. The vibrant fabrics of her skirts swished and shone in the sunlight, causing a stark contrast between the dark woman and the bright colors. Rey thought it beautiful.

"Maz," she replied, a hint of wonder lacing the name. Maz Kanata was an ancient sorceress, witty in character and exceptional in her work. No living soul knew of her origin or her age, but some thought of her as otherworldly. She claimed no land as hers, instead choosing to roam the planet in search of other magickal beings who required assistance, but it was rumored across the land that she maintained her hidden castle, a huge sanctuary where only those who needed its guidance could find it.

"I have something for you," she voiced in a sing-song tone, one that she always had when she visited. "Come, come. Sit." She addressed Rey as if she had invited her into her home, not the other way around.

Rey did as she was told and sat in the chair across from Maz, the silvery fabric of her dress seemingly floating as she did so.

"This gift," she began seriously, her fingers tapping the box, "was not one easily chosen. I spent months looking for the right one for you, and I finally found her." A grin broke across her face in excitement. "Now, dear Kira Rey, she doesn't exactly match your style in the way of her looks, but she certainly makes up for it with her personality and ability to help you with your magic."

Rey tilted her head to the side, her face muddled with confusion. Was Maz trying to gift her a faerie? Surely she wouldn't. Rey would have to immediately release the poor thing and compensate her for her suffering or else bad luck would fall upon her.

Sensing her confusion, Maz quickly slid the box across the table, beads jangling loudly. Suddenly nervous, Rey braced herself for an explosion and lifted the lid off of the box. But much to her relief and utter happiness, she found all things soft and fuzzy inside.

Rey couldn't help the tiny cry of delight that escaped her lips as she grasped the kitten and gently held it to her chest. The lovely little thing was purely black and mewed at her when she stroked her fur. She brought up the creature to admire her, finding that her eyes were an elegant jade green. In Rey's magic-centered mind, green represented nature and healing, which were large parts of her practice. This baby was perfect.

"I took it upon myself to name her. She is Anais, which means grace. May she remind you of your gracefulness and may she be your protector. I fed her my special herb blend on the day she was born to prevent any sort of disease. Anais will be with you for a long time." Maz said this in such a comforting way that it brought tears to Rey's eyes. Never before had she received an animal, and never one with such meaning.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly as a wave of unbridled joy swept over her, "She's lovely and I cannot wait to raise her as my companion." She stood and swooped her arms around the ancient woman in gratitude. "Can I offer you a place to sleep for a few days? I'm going to need help with preparing for the summer solstice, and it would be wonderful for you to celebrate with me and my people. The whole village will be there, and I would love to have your presence. You make everything much nicer, and I do believe summer will reward my people with you there."

As one of the three witches in her realm, she barely had enough help to prepare for two hundred people for the celebration of Midsummer.

Maz seemed to think it over before shrugging. "Sure, but I want to make the honeycakes. Every being who eats them says they're divine!"

Rey gently lowered her new kitten into the pocket of her apron and was thrilled nearly to death as she poked her fuzzy head out to look around. Maz stood and rolled up her sleeves, pushing back her wristlets and grabbing an apron from the closet where she knew it would be.

"Let's start, my witchling."


	2. Blood

Hours of baking and spellbinding and shrine placing filled Rey's cottage with an aura of shine and new beginnings, but left her exhausted. The sun had already begun her dive into the sleek horizon, and Rey watched the glowing orb through the sheer curtains of her bathroom as she soaked in a rose bath and recited her daily cleansing incantations, making a mental note to create some for her new furry friend.

As the sun crept closer and closer to the edge of darkness, Rey regretted not lighting some candles in order to see. Unfortunately, Guérisse was one of the few areas on the planet Almearth which did not receive electricity. Running water, plumbing, and gas lit stoves needed no energy to work, but lighting and proper ventilation systems required a grid, which the village had a lack of. But they got by with what they had. Rey had never lived with electricity, so she found it easy to live without.

As she gazed out the window that overlooked the rolling fields beside her home, she noticed a peculiar sight. A colossal wolfhound stood a ways down the path to her home, its brown backside facing her as it painstakingly dragged what could only be described as a huge, bloody mess. The hound's movements were slow and haphazard, making Rey believe that whatever it was pulling was _heavy_.

In a panic, she rushed out of the tub and hurriedly toweled herself down before throwing a shift dress over her head and sprinting out towards the hound, hair still dripping wet. She couldn't let this dog bring a dead animal or a pile of garbage on her property. She had just cleansed it for Midsummer.

When she finally reached the dog, it loosened its jaw on the pile and looked up at her with bloody jowls. The animal held a guarded stance, protecting whatever it was his mouth had been gripping so fiercely. At first, she couldn't tell if the dog was eating or dragging, but a closer look at the pile revealed to her that it was a man, bloody and unrecognizable. Rey gasped at the sight, shocked at such a horrific amount of blood. She crept as close to him as his dog allowed and tied her dress back to where the hem reached her thighs, kneeling beside him and searching for a wound.

The source of the blood came from not one, but six different gashes. Rey found them quite fast, for they were located wherever there was a rip in the fabric of his clothes. She winced as she identified each one, feeling sympathy for him so fiercely that she nearly experienced his pain.

With no thought other than _Save him_ , Rey heaved the huge, barely-conscious man onto her back and dragged him to the house with his hound in tow. She was grateful for the dog's friendly and desperate demeanor, for he was a gigantic beast, his head reaching her waist and his brown-gray body taught with muscles, lean and large and ready to fight.

She kicked her front door open with her foot, and it creaked as she did so. Unfortunately, Maz had gone to the village to gather extra supplies to continue preparing for the solstice and wouldn't be back for at least a few hours, so Rey was on her own. All alone, to deal with a huge, injured man.

She sighed, disgruntled with the situation, and laid the man on the wide floor of her kitchen, trying hard not to let the irritation in her gut grow. It was unreasonable to get frustrated, especially because he was clearly incompetent and badly injured. How could he have known his hound would lead him to her? Unless he did.

She quit overthinking the situation, shooed the mud soaked dog out of her kitchen and into another room, and ambled off to the cabinet to obtain her healing box. Her feet found their way up the step-stool she kept in handy for the high-up places and she grabbed the huge thing. The heavy metal box fell with a thud as Rey dropped it onto the counter. She lifted the top and opened it to its fullest capacity, pulling out the drawers and lifting up its levels. Clear and amethyst crystals, white candles, and a mortar and pestle found their way into her hands and she hurriedly placed the candles around the bleeding man, lighting them one by one while whispering a healer's prayer. As she did so, she began to feel the humming energy that she often felt when practicing, her very soul thrumming and buzzing and commingling with the aura she generated.

The man let out a soft groan and Rey hated that she was alone. Two more hands would make all the difference and the strength of the session would be much greater.

She sprinted out through the door leading to her garden, grabbing fistfuls of the herbs and plants she needed. She quickly shoved them into the makeshift basket of the skirt of her dress before running back to the kitchen, leaves and dirt flying every which way, leaving a trail where she went. The man once again groaned, but this time it sounded like a word.

She paused and leaned into him, letting her ear fall close to his lips.

" _Help_ ," he whispered, pleaded, and Rey felt him weakly grab her arm to bring it to his hip. That's when she noticed the wooden handle sticking adjacent from his body where someone–or some _thing_ –thrust it in. Her eyes widened at the sight.

Kira Rey had witnessed many violent acts in her lifetime; she watched helplessly as thugs executed a group of children belonging to her realm, watched as her own village burned to the ground. Never had she had to deal with an injured body like this. His arms were maimed and slashed, his legs shaking with pain as blood drained from his body and pooled onto the hardwood floor. A gash in his side was deep enough to where she saw layers of flesh underneath his skin.

She sat straight up and swallowed thickly, closing her eyes before they could well up with tears. Her voice quivered as she said, "I am going to help you."

She worked quickly, forgetting about providing him with painkillers if only for the reason that she so desperately _could not let him die_. Like a bird building its nest, she zoned in on the task and tried to think of the process as a simple task, like making a dress or baking a cake. Her fingers deftly unbuttoned his shirt and she carefully undressed him, leaving him in just his drawers. The sight temporarily stunned her. Even in the injured, wan state he was in, she could tell he maintained his physique by the toned, shapely lines of his large arms and the muscles that seemed to be carved into his torso. She had no time to embarrass herself over his exposure, so she shook her head and maintained her focus on healing. Shaking hands crushed dried yarrow root and soaked it in hot water before packing a poultice into each of his wounds to staunch the bleeding. He hissed at the application, but soon enough he made no noise, instead resolving to work his jaw and clench his fists.

Once he wasn't draining himself anymore, she removed the root and replaced it with a honey and plantain mixture, one she charmed with a moon-charged amethyst to aid in healing. Then she moved to his hip to address the knife lodged into his flesh.

She felt it necessary to softly say, "This will hurt."

Then she gently eased the blade from his skin, and he let out a muffled cry of pain. Rey cringed, quickly packing a poultice and pressing hard to stop the blood that had already spilled on her fingers.

The man was sweating, grinding his teeth together, reminding Rey that she neglected to give him anything for his pain.

Since she could feel that his energy was not in danger of faltering, she felt that it was okay to turn her attention elsewhere for a few moments in order to gather her five-flower remedy and some wild lettuce to make him a sedative tea. She stood over her pot and stirred the liquid, carefully adding the ingredients and occasionally glancing over her shoulder to make sure the gigantic man hadn't lost consciousness or died. Every time, he was awake, barely, with his eyes slanted open and his jaw clamped shut.

Rey's urgency had ebbed and all that remained was her desire to apply sutures to his wounds and get him to sleep so that she could as well. So she took great care to strengthen his tea to achieve its opioid effects.

When it had steeped long enough and she added a spoonful of honey, she gracefully lowered herself to the ground, sitting on her knees and gently placing the man's head atop a pile of fabrics to elevate him. She pressed a cool cloth to his forehead and wiped his sweat with a dry one, watching as hot droplets trailed down his face and into his dark, tangled mane of hair.

Rey dipped a spoon in the cup and carefully brought it to his plump lips, willing that he take it. He did not, which hadn't surprised her. Those who are in pain let the sensation control them, let it be the only thing they think about. They allow it to block their rational thought. But Rey was determined to bring him back to reality. She tried again, this time bringing his head into her lap and digging out her clear crystals from her pockets before placing them in a wide halo around them. The energy resonating from the crystals gave her strength and patience, two feelings which begged to hum through her and which she readily allowed. Focusing all of her energy and good thoughts on this tea as she drew from the crystals, she brought the spoon to his lips once more.

"Drink it," she whispered, no longer fighting with herself to remain calm and patient, "You will feel no pain."

"None but my own," he hissed back, and Rey shook her head, not even fazed by his volatility. He was delirious, consumed by the sharpness and the sheer volume of his anguish. Some of the people she healed in the past spouted venom when under duress, so this affected her minimally.

In response, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her thumbs gently stroked his cheeks, coaxing him, willing that he give in.

"Drink. I need to dress your wounds, and I won't have you passing out from me drawing a needle through your skin," she responded firmly, and he opened his eyes to glance up at her, as he had previously kept them screwed shut. She noticed the way his brown eyes seemed to glow, his irises a dark brown, the outer rings a lighter shade that blended like the hues of the Milky Way did. Never had she seen eyes like that. The majority of the people she came across had icy blue or sharp grey or snake-like green eyes, none bearing the elusive soft brown of his. It absolutely fascinated her.

Against the candlelight, the relaxed muscles beneath his skin enhanced the beauty marks that freckled his pale face, making them look like constellations. Rey felt his energy; a slow, pulsing vibe flowed within him and pumped back out to her.

With his change in demeanor, Rey tried for a third time to feed him the tea, and miraculously, he took it.

"There," she cooed, keeping her voice sweet and soothing, "It wasn't bad. Can you drink some more?"

He didn't nod and she didn't wait for him to. She just kept on spooning it out to him until the cup was empty, refilling it to give him more. Just from giving him the small amount, she could see in his limbs that he had visibly relaxed, his tightened muscles now loose and his legs no longer shaking with pain.

"Better?" she asked with a small smile, and he nodded curtly, expressionless. With that, she lowered him back down to the pile of cloth and prepared a sterilized needle.

Sewing sutures into all six of his wounds took less time than she would have thought, but she credited her deftness to her recent practice. Unfortunately, the young children of her village played roughly and found themselves in thorny shrubs, so Rey had fixed quite a few chubby legs in the last month. She sealed his wounds with lavender oil and honey and applied gauze to each one, delicately wrapping him up.

To finish, she placed his head back in her lap, allowing the hum of the electric energy to flow through her before pushing it to him as she drew the session to a close.

"Wounds be sealed, pain be healed," she whispered, and fluttered her eyes shut as she placed a soft kiss right between his eyes to signal that the healing was complete. As if on cue, he exhaled softly.

For many drawn out moments, there was a cold silence that rang heavily in Rey's ears, one which she could barely stand. So she appealed to the loudest parts of herself and chattered away.

"The hit to your side could have been fatal. Any closer and you would have had to deal with a punctured kidney," she paused, shivering at the thought, "As for your hip, you could have had your big intestine sliced open. Fortunately, whatever attacked you didn't seem intent on killing you, however wild that may sound," she mumbled. She was rambling to make up for the loss of intense focus she had kept so wondrously before, but he didn't seem to mind, partially because of the potent tea she had so earnestly fed him.

"I'm sure you're starved and dying of thirst," she continued, noting that she hadn't seen a bag or any sort of provisions on him. "I'll make you something. Your hound brought you here, but you probably already knew that."

He nodded sluggishly, and that's when Rey realized she had been sitting with his head in her lap, her fingers idly running through his mussed up hair. She immediately withdrew, standing and replacing her lap with the cloth.

"I suppose your clothing is no longer useful to you," she stated dumbly, pointing out the obvious, "I might have something here."

In order to rip her greedy eyes away from the muscular specimen below her, she looked out the window and noted the velvety black night that sat outside. It was far too late to call for Finn to borrow some of his clothes, so she would have to make do with whatever she kept here until the morning. But that was precisely the problem. Rey only ever wore dresses aside from the occasional pair of pants, and everything she owned resembled doll clothes compared to the hulking man sprawled on her kitchen floor.

So, after rummaging through drawers and dissecting her closets, she settled with wrapping him in a sheet until she could further quest to find him something to wear. However, the task was easier said than done.

As she tried lifting him up, the limbs of the man functioned like gelatin; his head, like a dead fish. At first, Rey panicked at the thought that she had forced him to overdose on wild lettuce and rose oil, but then she saw the shit-eating smirk on his face. The bastard was doing it on purpose. As to why, she hadn't the slightest idea.

"Quit that," she snapped, "It'll only make your wounds reopen, and you better believe that I will leave them as is. I just spent two hours healing you when I could have been sleeping."

He only continued, but she managed to sling his arm over her shoulders and heave him to the downstairs bedroom. "I fixed you up, but I can just as quickly bring back your pain if you keep it up," she grunted, but it was an empty threat, as she had sat him up in bed and tucked the sheets around him  in a nurturing sort of way while speaking.

Rey clicked on the bedside gas lamp and huffed, breathless from his density. Light flooded the room and the man squinted as he leaned against the headboard, trying to adjust. Then, she pointedly asked, "What do they call you?"

He paused for a moment, but before he could speak, someone else did.

"Ben Solo," said an old, fruity voice from behind her with an exasperated sigh, "Spilling blood on other people's things, I see?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think? <3


	3. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rey finds herself in a trance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who got my story to over 100 hits in less than a day! It really motivates me to work harder when I see that people enjoy what I give them. Make sure to hit that kudos button if you like it! :)
> 
> xx anya

Rey whirled around to see Maz, hand on hip, standing under the doorframe in all her glory. The orange fabrics of her outfit swished as she hobbled over to the bed and sat down right next to the man, whom Rey now knew as Ben Solo, and leaned in close to him. She squinted her eyes and watched him, but the way he gazed back with droopy eyes suggested he barely registered the woman in front of him.

Maz stared at him for a second before grabbing his arms and inspecting the gauze bandages Rey had so painstakingly applied. Without a second thought, the woman's wrinkled hands deftly unraveled the two on his left arm, and the third on his right. A shock of terror struck through Rey, and she rushed over in an attempt to stop her, but Maz lifted a hand and immediately halted any further action.

"I'm just looking at how you did them. That is all," she explained, resembling a teacher observing the work of her pupil. Rey relaxed slightly, but not enough to step away.

Mumbling things like, "No swelling," and "Neatly stitched," she turned the man's huge, muscular arms every which way and nodded.

"Very well done, Kira Rey," she concluded, and a sense of pride swelled inside of Rey. "Next time, let little Anais observe. The only way she will learn is to train by your side."

At the mention of her kitten, she gasped, eyes widening. With the rush of an emergency and a tiring day, she had nearly forgotten all about her and panicked at the thought of finding her injured or stuck somewhere. Kittens often found themselves in mischievous places.

Her feet hit the stairs, which creaked and groaned under her weight, until she padded into her room to find Anais curled in a ball in the corner where Rey had built her a little home. The black fuzzball laid atop the blankets she set out for her, and Rey breathed a sigh of relief, scooping the creature into her hands and carrying her down to the room containing her eclectic houseguests.

Before she reached the door, she heard Maz speaking. Despite her better judgment, she stopped in her tracks and eavesdropped, listening to the woman, her voice reminiscent of a crackling fireplace.

"I see you brought my favorite dog," she rasped, "How long has it been since I last saw you? Five years? You're not still pursuing a career in smuggling, are you?...I would let that go. Why don't you try politics?" A long, drawn out pause came after each question she asked. The silence she received mattered none; the old woman seemed to read him like an open book.

"Ben Solo, you can remain silent all you want, but I know the hand you play. Somebody cast a protective spell upon you, but it is not for the purpose you thought." Then, she laughed. It was a throaty, good natured, I-told-you-so laugh.

"But you're here for something. This wasn't a chance encounter; you have something she wants," Maz continued, but before she could finish her thought, Anais impatiently scratched Rey and caught her in the forearm, causing her to cry out softly and expose her eavesdropping.

In order to avoid questions, she hurried into the room to find them seated in the same position in which she left them. The man's bandages had been restored as if they had never been tampered with, and a hearty sigh of relief left her lungs.

"You found her all right?" asked Maz, and Rey nodded. The old woman reached out for the kitten, which Rey handed over.

She focused her attention to the man, Ben Solo, and found him looking her up and down through slow-blinking, drugged eyes before looking away, as if unimpressed by her small frame and bare feet. It left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet she knew not why. He barely held any importance to her, and she rarely let it bother her about what others thought of her or her appearance.

"I think you ought to have a bite to eat," Rey blurted out, suddenly uncomfortable with the situation, and it made Maz stir.

"You left such a mess in your kitchen, I could barely walk to the cabinets. Clean up your work area before anything else," Maz scolded, and stood while brushing her skirts off.

Rey scooped up her kitten from the bed and the two headed to the kitchen, leaving the man alone to fend for himself.

"You clean, I will cook," said the woman as she shuffled to the refrigerator. The only modern day luxury Rey allowed herself to own was her beloved refrigerator. Powered by a a small solar panel and minimalistic in size and appearance, it housed all of the fruits she picked that grew from her trees and the cow's milk she obtained from the market. When the house was silent, she could often hear its quiet humming, and strangely, it comforted her. The thought of a fridge full of food helped her sleep at night, for there was once a time in her life when she went hungry for nights on end. Those days had long surpassed her, but the haunting memory of starvation and the visions that surfaced of her emaciated teenage body left an ache in her heart, and she never to this day wasted a scrap of food. As her moral standards for conserving food remained high, she instilled this thought process within the people of her village, teaching them to take only what they needed from the ground and their animals, therefore providing time that the earth needed to replenish herself and her resources. Because of this, Guérisse was reputable for its lush, thriving lands and beautiful, healthy people.

Rey tied her hair up in a bun and grabbed the white candles from the ground, beginning to dismantle what resembled to any outsider a strange, sacrificial circle. With the blood staining the dark wood of the floorboards and the crystals and herbs placed intricately around it, it certainly looked demonic. But as she meticulously scrubbed away the harshness, it looked good as new.

"So you know him." Rey tried to keep her voice nonchalant, but couldn't help the curiosity she felt. She was dying to know who he was, where he came from, what he was doing, but most importantly, how he managed to maneuver himself into her realm and onto her property. Guérisse, though visited by many travelers a day, was hard to locate on a map and even harder to travel to.

"I used to."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, her face scrunching up as she stared down at her working hands, trying her best to seem uninterested.

"He's not who he used to be. Doesn't like most people, and most people don't like him. He holds such a high standard for himself that he leaves no room for an appreciation of anything, therefore he's bitter and mean and self-loathing. There isn't more to be said." She spoke the words like a worn-out recording, reciting them casually as if she had performed the same speech many times before.

"Oh," Rey said. She found it hard to believe that someone with galaxies in their eyes could be anything but lovely.

Grabbing the heaping pile of torn up clothing that sat near the kitchen table, she hadn't noticed until then that the clothes she had so quickly shucked from the man were of a high quality material which she couldn't identify. It occurred to her that she should mend his clothes and return them, so she set them on top of the little sewing basket she kept tucked in the corner beneath the table.

Perhaps all he needed to soften his soul was someone to care for him.

"What caused him to become that way?" she inquired.

"Oh, that is not my story to tell. The only one who can tell you is the man himself," Maz responded vaguely as she chopped vegetables on the board and piled them into a pan. Rey, unsatisfied with the answer she received, determined from that point on that she would find out what made him cold. She had always been a fixer, always wanting to fix or heal what was broken.

Rey focused back on cleaning and scoured the floor for anything she missed. More important than the clothes strewn on the floor laid the knife she had pulled from Ben Solo's hip.

Spotting it, she plucked it from the floor and inspected it carefully. The handle, made of a rich, honey colored wood, had an intricate design carved into its curves, with leaves and vines swirling around it, sharply contrasting with the harsh, geometric shapes that came up in parallel lines all around. The blade was long, about as long as her hand, and the thinness and sharp point made it believable that it dipped into flesh quite easily. Rey shivered at the thought of such a long blade diving into anyone, but the knife in her hands was something lovely and dainty. It seemed to her that a beautiful creation such as this couldn't possibly hurt her. Tempted by some unknown urge inside of her, she felt it pertinent to know what the blade felt like against her skin, what it would do to her, what it—

"Put that down before you hurt yourself," came Maz's sharp voice from across the room, and Rey jumped, snapping out of the trance she had so deeply been in.

"I'm not going to–"

"That knife is cursed. You need to get it out of your home immediately."

"How do you know?"

"Years and years of learning about dark energies. Here." The small woman hurried over and snatched it out of Rey's fingers before she could cause any harm to herself, quickly wrapping it in a cloth. The door to Rey's side yard swung open as Maz stomped out onto the dark earth and kicked a hole into the dirt. She sat on her knees and buried the object, drawing a sigil into the dirt that covered it.

"I'll need to burn it soon. For now, that should hold it," she said as she slowly stood up and wiped her hands on her apron. Rey stood in the doorway, frozen in shock, eyes wide and panicked. She had allowed herself to become enchanted by a cursed object, and almost cut herself with it.

"Why–How was it cursed? Who is this damn man that's laying in one of my bedrooms? Why did he bring a cursed object into my house?" With every minute that passed, she grew gradually more irritable. Night had fallen hours ago, and Rey usually fell asleep immediately once the sun had set. Yet here she stood, hands balled into tight fists as her chest fell and rose in agitated swells. She fought hard to balance her energy and tried to seek the peace she had felt before _he_ had arrived, but no such relief came.

"Everything happens for a reason, Kira Rey, and that reason sometimes must remain unknown."

"Why won't you just tell me who he _really_ is?" Rey asked, trying to maintain a calm exterior.

"I can't. Someone cast a powerful protection charm over him that keeps others from speaking of his true intent."

"Protection charm?" she asked, and her face softened as the gears in her mind turned, "I know how to break those."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little glossary for you:
> 
> a sigil is a symbol or drawing that one puts anywhere for any number of reasons; to protect, to aid, to convince, to cure, etc
> 
> ———————
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Until next time! :) <3
> 
> xx anya


	4. Little and Big

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charm breaking and some yelling.

"It's an old trick of a desert witch," Rey had said excitedly as she pulled out one of her many grimoires that sat in a row on the shelves of her sitting room.

The spell appeared promising.

Rey tried in earnest to weaken the foundation of the impenetrable charm over the man. She felt its energy as she stood in front of him, reciting verse after verse. It was strong, cast with a power from dark origins, which made it difficult to break. She flipped through pages upon pages of spells, working through the night and into the early morning with Maz, nearly exhausting her resources for spell-casting in the process, yet nothing worked.

Not a single one.

The man had long since fallen asleep, snoring like a hog and groaning in his sleep, his forehead creased in worry. He lay on his back and his long, dark hair fell around his head in a messy and unkempt halo, his pink lips parted and his cheeks rosy with the heat of sleep. The sheets were tangled in his long legs, which hung off the side of the bed uncomfortably. In fact, he stood so tall and spanned so broadly that he dwarfed the bed into looking like something out of a dollhouse.

Enthralled at such a sight, Rey stood at the foot of his bed, her eyes glued to his sleeping form. Never before had she seen a sleeping man, simply because of the fact that she spent all her life on her own.

But the time to be intrigued by such intricacies certainly was not now, not at the crucial point in her work.

All hope seemed lost.

Until, as a last resort, she came across a worn out page in her earliest grimoire, one faded and yellowed with time. Her fingers traced over it, searching, feeling for something that would work. The page, written in a faraway language, was not even hers; she had discovered it during her years as a desert scavenger, when she scrapped for food and found witchcraft as her saving grace.

An old and meticulous charm breaker, the spell was not easily cast. It called for rosebuds, obsidian, the hair of the protected, a scrap of clothing, and "a protector of the protected," which Rey interpreted as a familiar.

In this case, the hound.

A door swung open and in stepped a determined Rey, this time into her uncommonly large coat closet and the wolfhound that laid patiently inside.

"Hi, sweetheart," she cooed to the dog, who stood and wagged his wiry tail at her in greeting. Rey knelt before him and put her hand out, which he fervently licked and nuzzled like a love-starved child. He sniffed around and found the kitten who slept in her pocket, but she quickly moved him away.

"That's Chewie," said Maz from behind her, "I call him my demon hound. But don't let that scare you away; he's a good boy," she paused, "When he wants to be."

The spell required the familiar to be "in its best spirits," and they made sure he was. Rey grabbed him by the collar and gently guided him to the backyard, where she hosed him off and got him in the best possible shape. The two women fed him chicken and carrots and petted him, telling him how much of a good boy he was for dragging his master to help. They groomed him and made him a chain of braided flowers for luck and bliss, singing songs of birds by the bay and early summer blossoms.

Soft beams of morning light fell through the window of the guest bedroom and hit the white sheets, illuminating the room in a warm glow. But there was nothing warm about the gaze of the young witch who stood in front of the bed, her hand resting on the worn leather of the hound's collar.

"I will find out why you're here, Ben Solo," she uttered to his sleeping form, her lip twitching irritably, "Don't you worry about that."

If this didn't work, she might lose her damn mind. The man had dripped blood into her home, stained her favorite slip dress; he had deprived her of valuable sleep, had caused her to use up heaps of ingredients. She was determined.

Whatever anxiety she might have felt about practicing in front of the old sorceress had disappeared after the third try hours ago, and she barely wavered as the woman sat in a chair and watched her. Rey laid out the obsidian stones in a circle before the bed and placed a large glass bowl in the center, careful not to slosh the rum that it held. One by one, she lit black candlesticks and let the alluring energy from the fire hum inside of her. Crushing the rosebuds between her fingers, she dropped them into the bowl and focused on the liquid, putting all of her concentration on it and letting her intent be known. A scrap of cloth from Ben Solo's pants and a lock of his hair went next, followed by a chunk of fur from his hound.

"With this flame I bring to thee, a charm to break and set it free." She read the words exactly from the page and imagined that each one spoken would erode the integrity of the charm until nothing was left. Using a glass stir stick, she stirred the bowl three times clockwise and three times counterclockwise. Then, she carefully took one of the candles and dipped the flame onto a rum-soaked rose petal, which ignited the ingredients and rippled through the bowl. The commotion caused her to jerk backward as a wave of heat struck her face and she hoped, prayed that it would work.

As she pleaded to every existing deity, the hulking man who laid in bed stirred. He rubbed his eyes and groaned, and Rey sat frozen on the ground, unable to move or explain why she was sat in front of a flaming bowl that smelled of burnt hair, her kitten obediently next to her and his hound watching in utter fascination. Ben Solo ever so slowly lifted himself into a sitting position, groaning in pain with every move, and took in what laid at the foot of the bed, blinking many times before he blurted, "How did I—What the hell are you–"

"He's come for the map." Maz, quick and able to feel the release of the charm's hold, butted in before he had the chance to finish.

"The map?" Rey questioned, her face scrunched up in confusion as she let the bowl burn out, not even acknowledging her achievement of breaking the charm.

"The map to Luke Skywalker," Maz replied, her eyes glinting with something unidentifiable.

"The...Why?" she asked, finally comprehending her words and turning to the man, "He–You came all this way for my map?" Suddenly, the pieces of the story clicked together in her mind; of course he wanted the map. Luke Skywalker, a renowned sorcerer and healer, had been missing for a decade. As the story goes, Luke had been training a group of specially selected children to be the next generation of healers, for the practice was dying out. But one of his apprentices manipulated Luke's teachings, turning it into something dark and twisted, and attempted to destroy years of Luke's work, along with he himself. Shaken and confused, Luke exiled himself, taking to an unknown place to meditate and analyze what went wrong. Word of his whereabouts spread far and wide, the story twisting with each person who told it. But among many false rumors, one of them remained true: he charted his journey on an enchanted map, tore it to pieces, and somewhere along the way released it to the wind. Only those who lived a life of light magick would ever find it, and Luke hoped that one day he could restore the practice to its original state.

Rey kept her map findings from every single one of the people she knew aside from Maz. Some selfish part of her felt that the map was made for her, felt as if it was her purpose, and she often had dreams where it called to her in her sleep.

"It's not _your_ map," he snarled.

She bristled at that. "It is, too. I've spent _years_ gathering pieces of it. And why would you want it anyway? My map is only bits and pieces. He's already become a myth, something of campfire stories and proverbs." Rey knew that what she said was only somewhat true, and she barely believed herself as she spoke.

"If it's really so unimportant to you, why won't you let me see it?" he argued, seeming to find it incredulous that she would not share. The bowl of rum burned violently in front of her, but she paid it no mind.

"It is _highly_ important to me, and I won't allow someone I barely know to see it, especially one who risked his own life to take it! Are you out of your mind?" she exclaimed, still sitting cross-legged in front of her ritual circle. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Maz slip out and take the demon hound with her, an indication that she was up to mischief, but Rey could not bother herself with them at the moment.

"You think I did this to myself?" he scoffed, but it turned to a wince of pain. He stifled whatever affliction coursed through him and muttered, "I value my life more than that."

"Who else would? My people are not violent. They know nothing of how to curse knives."

However soft his brown eyes had looked in the candlelight the prior evening mattered none, for he glared at her with a fire that could burn holes through glass.

But Kira Rey was not startled.

In fact, she took it in stride and calmed herself down, focusing on the bundle of serenity she reserved inside of her for these situations. The still pond of dark blue energy materialized as a quiet spring morning in her head, one which she held onto like a child clings to a mother's skirts. She felt the peace grow and spread through her body, filling her very bones with understanding. She reminded herself that he was a man in pain, reminded herself that she shouldn't assume what others have been through, and found that looking at the situation from a different angle allowed her to breathe normally again.

"We're both not in our right minds," she said after exhaling slowly. It ached to stand, and the stiffness made her realize how awfully tired she was. "I will get you something for the pain. And I'm sorry for breaking the protection charm that was cast upon you. I just find it a bit odd when men show up to my doorstep unannounced."

"I find it odd when little girls think they can pry into someone else's business," he fired back, working his jaw and clenching the top of the headboard behind him so fiercely that his knuckles turned white.

At that, Rey couldn't help but take offense. The tranquility she felt dissolved as quickly as it had formed. She labored for hours to fix him up and now he had the audacity to say she did the wrong thing? Irritation flared in her gut and sent fire to her chest, fueling her next words.

"I think you meant to say thank you," she spluttered, her neck turning red, "You know, for saving your life and keeping you from malevolent spirits."

"The only malevolent spirit here is—"

But she didn't hear the last part of his spiel because she stormed out before he could finish, kitten in hand and hair falling into her eyes.

She rushed to the washroom and splashed water onto her face, hoping that it would refresh her, but as she patted herself dry she found her reflection to appear the opposite.

Tired. Sluggish. No charge, no spark.

Rey huffed in frustration. In a matter of mere hours, this Ben Solo had managed not only to exhaust her, but to completely throw her off-schedule and ruin the morning of Midsummer. She had better things to do than waste her energy doting and casting spells over some hulking brute of a man, yet there she was.

"Anais," she said to the kitten, "What has this day become?"

The little cat who sat upon the counter pawed at Rey's hand and mewed.

After some investigating, she found that neither Maz nor Ben Solo's hound were anywhere to be found, leaving her to deal with the final preparations for Midsummer alone.

Every year, her people gathered to the center of their land to celebrate the middle of summer. The land was an open forest of huge oak trees and other various woods, all of which had hugged the earth with their roots for hundreds of years. The grass was green and the air was clean and sweet with the smell of honeysuckle. The children frolicked and played games as the others prepared their gifts to Almearth by planting a sapling or a few seeds to provide the ground with more to grow. The next year, they came back and found their plants sprouted. Every year, the land got greener and lusher, and Rey delighted at the sight. Her people brought food and flowers and blackberry wine, and the other two witches of the realm brought big jars of enchanted salts to distribute for others to spread around their homes. It was lovely, and Rey enjoyed every moment of it.

But she wouldn't enjoy it if she had to remain at home and tend to a stranger who fought with her over every possible thing. She brushed the thought aside, instead focusing on quickly brewing him another sedative tea before bringing it to him.

Ben Solo laid in the bed in anguish, his muscles bulging and sweat pouring from every pore, soaking the sheets and his hair. The white sheet which had covered him was on the floor, fallen from where he had ripped it off of him. He clenched his jaw tightly, and the veins in his neck looked about ready to burst. It didn't help that he took up the entirety of the bed, leaving him no room to lay comfortably.

Rey sighed gently and placed the tray of provisions on the floor before floating down on whatever sliver of mattress was left for her. She cupped the back of his neck and brought the cup to his lips, and this time he sipped it willingly. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist as she guided his hand to the cup, gently releasing and then moving to inspect his bandages. Each one had healed rather smoothly overnight, still weaving together his tissue but nonetheless looking significantly better. Magic always sped up the process by a few weeks, but still left many days before a wound healed completely.

"Today is Midsummer," Rey began as her nimble fingers unraveled each bandage and smoothed on a line of honey before applying a fresh gauze wrap.

"And why should I care?" he snapped, but his words had less sharpness as the tea sunk into him.

Rey didn't let him get to her. She had made up her mind. "It is an important holiday to my people, one known for healing and happiness and growth. I have to attend." She paused to redress the last wound on his leg before continuing, "So you will be coming with me."

No matter how much of a damn pain he was, she couldn't leave him alone. Especially not when she knew what he wanted from her.

He made no comment other than a grunt, and she took it as a begrudging acceptance.

This would be a _long_ day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 4th to all of my american readers! 
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter is dedicated to reylorobyn2011 for being so cool and supporting me!
> 
> also, a huge thank you to my sister for acting as my beta—you rock. 
> 
> \---------
> 
> a little glossary for you just in case: 
> 
> grimoire: a journal or a diary that witches keep to help them with remembering ingredients for spells or just to write down different things they find particularly interesting or magical. rey's more recent grimoires have pressed flowers between the pages. her older ones have grains of sand stuck in the creases. pretty neato. 
> 
> familiar: a demon/spirit who watches over/protects a witch, often disguised as an animal. 
> 
> \----------
> 
> a little of what's to come:
> 
> -more characters!  
> -mischief ;)  
> -literally so much reylo angst it hurts
> 
> until next time, my loves.
> 
> xx anya


	5. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One wouldn't necessarily call it a garden party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today is my birthday, so as a gift from me to you, i give you the long-awaited chapter five! sorry it took so long.

After an hour or so of tidying herself up, Rey heard the sounds of horses and a cart rolling up to her home.

Every one of her atoms buzzed with excitement as she heard Finn's muffled voice drifting from downstairs. Rey and Finn had been inseparable since the moment they stumbled upon each other in the blistering heat of the desert. They fit together like puzzle pieces, often having the same ideas and interests. He served as one of her advisors, and she couldn't run her little realm without him.

Rey rushed down the stairs and jumped from the last step into his strong arms, throwing her slender arms around his neck. He smelled of coconut oil and clean clothes and she inhaled deeply as a warm, familiar feeling of comfort engulfed her.

"Rey!" he exclaimed. She sighed, contented in his presence. They had seen each other the day before, but every moment they reunited felt like they spent months apart.

"Poe is coming home today," he said giddily as he pulled away, and the room lit up as a smile graced his face. Poe Dameron, Finn's longtime partner, served as a trader for Guérisse, journeying to faraway lands, often gone for weeks or sometimes months at a time. It was a delight whenever he came home, for he arrived bearing all sorts of exotic gifts. Poe kept his head high and his voice loud, greeting everyone with a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek and often making friends with every person he met.

Rey grinned back at Finn, equally as excited to see Poe.

"I heard about your, um, guest," he said, and her smile dropped in an instant at the mention of Ben Solo. "Maz sent for me to bring him clothes, but I'm not sure how they look." He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged.

"Thank you. I'm sure they're fine." But just as she spoke the words, in limped Ben Solo, leaning heavily on Maz and Chewie and wearing clothes that barely fit. If she disregarded the fact that his biceps bulged against the sleeves, the cotton shirt Finn had brought fit fine.

The pants posed the problem.

Rey had witnessed too much of Ben Solo already, but this crossed her line of morality. Tight and stiff, the fabric of the dark gray pants stretched to its farthest point around the ample muscles of his thighs, testing the integrity of the seams with each labored step he took. Even worse than the tight legs, though, was the tighter crotch. She could barely breathe merely out of shock from the sneaky and subtle lining of his manhood, which could hardly be ignored, for every time she tried to look elsewhere she found her eyes right back to it.

A question of her innocence played in her mind as she observed the male specimen in front of her. Healing exposed her to men, but only medically, and rarely did she ever find herself in a situation where she dealt with a naked man. Sexuality mattered little to her, as she felt that it would come of its own volition once someone came to ignite her fire. Desert scavengers don't have much time for anyone but themselves–sure, she may have seduced one or two male scavengers, but only for food–, so once she became the leader of a realm of people, she felt that they came first.

So was she innocent? No.

But she wasn't quite a harlot, either.

"Rey?" said Finn, who watched her with suspicious eyes, "Will you help load the cart?"

She snapped out of whatever trance she was in and nodded vigorously. She had been zoning out a lot recently; she needed to cut it out before it worsened.

They loaded baskets of baked goods and fruit into Finn's cart and rode off, with Finn and Maz in the front and Rey and Ben Solo and their respective animal companions sitting in the bed of the cart with all the goods. The grumbling man sat and hissed every time a wheel caught on a rock or he sat in the sun for too long, but Rey ignored him best she could. She found it astounding that one man could complain so much without uttering a single word.

Rey focused instead on her surroundings. The scenery around them shifted from rolling hills to a small village to vast meadows, changing every ten minutes or so and proving how beautiful Guérisse was. Rey prided herself on the greenness of it all, adoring the fact that she and her people took a blank canvas and brushed on Mother Nature's paint, giving the barest land something to love.

Bright rays of sun shifted and broke through the shade of the large oak trees surrounding them, and Rey closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, basking in the warmth of the light. It heated her freckled skin and warmed her very soul. She came alive in the heat of a summer day, which she attributed to spending most of her youth in the desert.

There was this blatant imagery that always stuck in her head, as she liked to imagine herself as the lovechild of a flash of lightning that struck the sand of the blistering desert one morning. All things hot and gritty produced a soft, efflorescent creature who thrived in the worst of climates, and she thanked her fate for allowing her the opportunity to grow up in such harsh environments, for it gave her wings.

The setup really was something to behold. Wooden tables and chairs lined the edge of the clearing, and people bustled around, tying ribbons and placing flowers and braiding hair, only stopping to watch the little cart roll in that carried their beloved star girl.

And there sat the Spirit Tree in the middle of it all, a constant companion in the darkest of times. The people of Guérisse tied bits of cloth or flowers to her branches and made wishes in her name, and often times she delivered. Her roots were planted deep and she stood strong with a wide and unwavering energy that Rey could always focus on in times of need. She loved that tree with her whole heart.

Her people had already begun to decorate the Spirit Tree, wrapping her wide trunk with long, brightly colored strips of fabric that fluttered with the summer breeze, her emerald leaves rustling beautifully.

Rey hopped out of the cart bed, the skirt of her simple handmade outfit—a cropped shirt with a matching skirt—billowing up and then gently floating back down.

"Rey!" She heard a voice call out to her, and she turned to see Jess Pava, another of the three witches in the realm, running up to her. The sleek girl took hold of Rey and embraced her tightly. She smelled of patchouli, as she always did, and her pockets clicked with the sound of crystals jangling together. When she pulled back, she inspected Rey closely with a sharp gaze.

"You're late—Oh," she said, eyeing the brooding man that sat in the back of the truck. Even Rey could admit that with such vibrant fruits and flowers surrounding him, he looked handsome, like a dark prince.

But she knew better.

"Avoid him. He's nothing but trouble," Rey deadpanned, shutting her down before she could even say anything.

"I would never take what's yours, but if he's up for grabs...." Jess raised a sharp eyebrow suggestively, her eyes squinting as she calculated spirit knows what.

"He's not."

"You just want him for yourself then," she squeaked back, but Rey shook her head.

"To be quite honest, he's insufferable. I've only just met him to heal him. I couldn't bear the thought of spending more time with him than necessary."

"I can finish healing him for you," she said eagerly, her eyes lighting up at the thought. Rey shot that idea down as well.

"No, believe me. You don't want to."

"Fine, but if he ever needs anything, you send him to me." She winked suggestively before grabbing a basket from the cart and sauntering away. Jess's specialty as a witch was aiding in fertility and generating passion, like a goddess from long forgotten myths, so it surprised Rey very little that she wanted to pounce on him.

Shaking her head, she turned to the cart and began to help Maz and Finn unload, carrying bundles of flowers in her arms to the places they were needed. Wherever she stepped, men and women stopped and greeted her respectfully. She still found it odd when people called her "Princess," and often asked them to "just call her Rey." Children flocked around her and chirped like little birds, some tugging at her skirt and others hugging her legs, all of them excited to see her.

"Good morning, my loves," she exclaimed, turning her attention to the little arms that wrapped around her legs. The warmth emanating from them filled her heart with happiness, and she absolutely beamed.

They all babbled out a greeting and proceeded to talk over each other, each one wanting to show her a dandelion that they picked or a handful of river rocks they found.

"You're all becoming such wonderful discoverers," she replied, patting a curly-haired boy on the head.

She continued to go back and forth to the cart, emptying it of its contents, until there was only one thing left.

The visitor.

Rey had to climb up, heave him onto her shoulders, and ungracefully hobble him over to a little table that she had hastily set up for him. He seemed to hate that he was helpless and in pain, as he looked anywhere but in her direction and practically leaned away from her as they struggled.

"So I'm insufferable?" he asked as she helped him down, and Rey's eyes widened. She didn't think he had heard her.

"I—"

"Oh, no." His tone was smooth and condescending. "Carry on with your 'holier-than-thou' act, _your_ _highness_. It's entertaining."

Rey blinked at him, stunned. But then she supposed she deserved it after speaking so poorly of him.

Then, the slightest ghost of a smirk shadowed his face.

"The innocence you claim is lost on me," he murmured, drawing a hand up to brush against her cheek. She jerked back at the sudden contact with the tough skin of his fingers, and without further interaction, strode away from him with a swish of her skirts.

There were plenty of other things to do than babysit and listen to a freak.

So Rey greeted more of her people as they arrived and helped with any last minute adjustments, and soon the gathering was bustling with music and activity. The event was mainly celebrated by the people of Guérisse, but some travelers came to witness the festivities.

Still, their numbers were meek.

The once populous realm of Guérisse fell victim to a dark and ominous creature of twisted intent. One bone-chilling night, a gust of wind swept the town, and with it, a whisper. Words of destruction, a curse of fatality, and total obliteration struck the town. Before Rey—at the sweet age of seventeen—realized the curse had been cast, thousands died, dropping without warning. As a healer, she often used protection spells, and that night she felt nothing of the curse and ran through silent towns until she found survivors or untouched people. She cast spells, healed the dying, and managed to save over two hundred people. Everything Rey did that night was an act of selflessness, one done with only her country in mind. Therefore, the remaining people of Guérisse entreated her to be ruler.

It all still felt so surreal to her to be a _princess_ , a real one. Unlike how most "royals" functioned, she cared little about opulent looks and more about looking proper and presentable, as reflected by her bare face and plain sandals. The prettiest, most beautiful thing she ever allowed herself to wear was her crown, gifted to her many years ago after she lifted the curse and became leader. It was more than an object she obtained; it was an object she had earned. What it represented meant the whole world to her.

And as she wore it on this beautiful day, it gleamed in the sunlight that broke through the trees, giving her such peaceful joy she thought she would cry of happiness.

With this newfound wavelength of softness, she felt that it would be a decent time to confront her unfortunate guest. His previous actions hadn't ebbed her desire to soften him, even though he had managed to wedge himself past her seal of protection and get under her skin.

"Honeycake with raspberry syrup?" she offered kindly.

"I'm allergic," he replied bluntly as he turned his nose up and looked away.

"He's not," shouted Maz from behind them, "He's just acting like a child."

At that, Rey's suppressed anger flared in her gut and she raised her eyebrows, ready to fight him. But then she remembered that it wasn't a fight worth the energy it would take, so she instead placed the tray down on one of the food-filled tables and grabbed herself a cup of cold orange juice, sipping at it to distract from her vexation.

What was his problem? If she had even slightly been considering allowing him to see the map, she wasn't now. He acted like an entitled, selfish little brat, and Rey wouldn't stand for it.

As she was brooding, she heard Maz speaking to Ben Solo, her voice alight with mischief and slight scolding.

"...Get on her bad side, and she's a spitfire." Maz noticed Rey tuning in and nodded in her direction. "Ain't that right, little miss Rey?"

"I am a temple of tranquility," Rey said cooly, trying to dismiss her.

"Exactly," she pointed her wrinkled hand at her, as if Rey had proved her point.

Time passed and Rey laughed with her friends and snacked on whatever she passed, realizing a hole burned in her stomach. Ben Solo was detrimental to her health, she decided.

From a tent selling yards of fabric, she glanced over in his direction and wanted to laugh.

Three little girls and one boy all circled his chair, buzzing around him like honeybees to a snapdragon. The two youngest girls had clambered up the little stump behind him and were reaching for his hair with their chubby fingers, pulling on the chair, absolutely enthralled by his dark locks and longing to hold on. The boy had taken to Chewie, who lay obediently in front of his master, and he petted him gently and gave him little nose kisses. The hound licked his face and he giggled in delight, having never seen a dog so large. The older girl took an interest in his personal life, bombarding him with questions about who he was and why he came and "Are you friends with Rey?"

Needless to say, the man was overwhelmed, and Rey, amused at the sight of him squirming, wouldn't have stepped in had it not been for the fact that she feared he would lash out at them. She wondered why they took such an interest in him; different travelers made stops in Guérisse all the time and the children wanted nothing to do with them.

"Alright, loves. Leave him be now. He has come from a long journey and he must rest. The forest spirits are healing him."

"Why is he here?" The oldest girl asked, curiosity evident in her eyes.

"His hair is long! Are you married?" A younger one asked, noting how only men who were romantically involved with Rey kept their hair long. No such man had yet to exist.

At that, the man scoffed, and Rey quickly corrected her.

"Oh no, he's a visitor," she said sweetly, trying in earnest to keep herself from visibly wincing. It was an honest, innocent question, but Rey could barely imagine spending the rest of the day with Ben Solo, nonetheless the rest of her life. Even the mere suggestion seemed ridiculous.

"Rey!" cried the little boy who sat on the ground in front of Chewie, "I was teaching Ben how to speak to his puppy!" He turned to Ben Solo and asked, "Did you know that he's your familiar? That means he's your spirit helper in disguise and he watches over you! He can do magic like Rey!"

Ben Solo gave a halfhearted shrug, uninterested in any of the activity surrounding him. His blatant disregard for an excited kid made her want to roundhouse kick him in the face. But she didn't.

What did catch his eye as well as Rey's, however, was the flash of honey-brown hair that passed through the festivities at a speed comparable to lighting.

A shout of joy followed by laughter and a dog barking echoed through the forest and Rey spotted Poe sprinting towards an overjoyed Finn, both of them with their arms outstretched. They met halfway and knocked each other to the ground with a strong embrace, Poe's mess of curls the only thing visible as he attacked Finn's face with kisses.

The children, along with Chewie, scattered at the sight, giggling wildly and leaving her and the man alone. Rey chose to stay; Poe would greet her later, as was normal for him.

She turned to Ben Solo and forcefully placed a plate of food into his hands. Cocking an eyebrow, he looked up at her as if to say that he didn't plan to eat it.

Her sharp voice could have cut diamonds as she pointedly said, "You have had nothing since your arrival, so unless you prefer a hole in the ground as your next home, I suggest you eat."

He squinted at her, scrutiny clear in his gaze. At that point, she despised his brown eyes, always judging, always demanding something which she seemed never able to give. A big narcissist he seemed to be.

Rey glared back at him with much fire, hoping to scare him into oblivion. Their showdown was quickly interrupted by a warm voice calling out to her.

"Rey!" Poe jogged leisurely towards her, still in his business attire—which didn’t quite scream “executive”—and sweating, by the looks of it. Rey turned to him and with just one glimpse into those golden eyes, she soon forgot her irritation. He embraced her warmly, his strong arms tightening around her shoulders. Like Finn, Rey had known Poe before she became a leader. They were all she could consider her family.

"Hey, princess," he said with a half-smile, giving her a quick peck to the forehead before looking down at the man next to her. "Did you catch yourself a man while I was gone?"

Good lord. She'd have to cut this man's hair herself if only to stop all of the questions.

"Actually, he's only just arrived," she replied, "This is Ben Solo."

"Ben Solo. That name sounds familiar." Poe seemed to contemplate it until he gave up and shrugged. She sighed inwardly. Rey had hoped he would have known something about him.

Poe bent over to give him his signature hug. He visibly stiffened and refused to greet him back, instead letting Poe pull away awkwardly and flash the most brilliant smile to grace Almearth, a modest recovery to something so flat.

"You visiting?" Poe asked, and the moping man in the chair gave a curt nod. He continued warmly, "I'm not quite the native here, either. Born and raised in Politique Royale. Are you familiar with it?"

"I know enough," he shrugged, and glanced away.

"Spirits bless the Queen," he recited quietly with a nostalgic smile on his face, and oh, how the sun shined for him.

Poe Dameron would die for Queen Organa, Politique Royale's leading monarch, in a heartbeat. He proudly served her as a pilot in her air force, climbing his way up the ranks for years until he became captain of the squadron. A lovely gem was he, for out of the pure goodness from his heart, he only wanted to do what was best, and that was almost entirely the reason he "retired" from the royal armed forces to move to Guérisse with his longtime, long distance partner Finn.

But Ben Solo knew none of this as he rolled his eyes, and Rey wanted so badly to put him in his place, for Poe deserved nothing but kindness. She did not scold him, nor did she even glare, but her small hand flexed into a tight ball at her side and released, a minuscule reaction that echoed a thousand of her thoughts.

"Relax, duchess," he muttered, and she found it utterly shocking when his rough fingers jabbed at the soft flesh of her exposed ribcage. It left a dull pain and she almost retaliated, only vexed more by his loathsome actions, but stopped when Poe chuckled at them.

"How long have you _really_ known each other?"

"We met yesterday." Rey said bluntly, wary of where the topic of conversation was headed.

"Hm," he huffed, pondering for a moment, "Must be a case of the red string, then. Didn't you feel that tug on your pinkie, Peanut?"

She winced not only at his use of Finn's old nickname for her, but also at his mention of the red string. Mythology stated that The Red String of Fate was a direct line connecting one with their soulmate solely through a string tied to their pinkie finger. Rey's village believed strongly in the string of fate, incorporating it into wedding ceremonies, sex rituals, anniversaries, and anything relating to love.

"It was lovely to see you, my friend," Rey said to Poe, and he took it as a cue to leave.

At those words, he backed away obligingly, giving a short wave and dashing off to find Finn. She turned on Ben Solo immediately and bent over to his level, an accusatory finger pointed right at him.

"What is the _matter_  with you?" she spat, and she could feel the color rising to her cheeks. Her annoyance had grown so large that not even the energy from the Spirit Tree could stop her. "I am not a duchess, I am a _princess_. And I'm not a punching bag. Touch me again and see what happens."

“What will you do, light some candles and hum a little tune? I'm quaking with fear!" His sarcasm irked her and her breathing quickened. Witchcraft was a genuine practice that produced tangible results. It was not something to joke about. "C'mon, sweetheart. You've gotta lighten up."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ben solo is a thicc boy pass it on)
> 
> sooooooo. i hope you enjoyed it. i love seeing your comments, as they motivate me so much and make me want to write twice as much!
> 
> \--------------
> 
> Here's a bit of background on the names i chose for my little planet. 
> 
> I got the name "Almearth" basically just from what the planet is: almost earth. Just like earth, it is inhabited by humans, and there are more developed places like Politique Royale as well as lesser developed areas like Guérisse. Deserts, oceans, forests, mountains, you name it. But, unlike earth, it is gigantic in size, like about as big as jupiter, so it holds more creatures, bigger mountains, wider oceans, and a more stable atmosphere i guess(? i like science but also this is fiction so i might be wrong about that ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ). 
> 
> Guérisse is taken from the french word for 'healer,' ('guérisseur/guérisseuse') and i really liked it & it just sort of clicked when i saw it. 
> 
> Politique Royale, if you haven't noticed already, is also a little drabble of french. Royal politic, mainly because that's where Princess Leia/General Organa(pretty sure she was a senator? maybe that was padme im not sure but it fits) rules, and she's royalty, military, and politics, like the badass she is and always will be. Poe is a lovely man who is also from Politique Royale. makes sense. 
> 
> Fun fact which I didn't know: rose quartz, which is what Rey's crown is made from, represents peace and can be used for healing. Interesting....
> 
> (for more cosmic roses, click [](<div)[here!](https://prettylittledarkstar.tumblr.com/post/163336873371/cosmic-roses-a-visual-aid-part-one))
> 
> There will be more places to come, more journeys to take, and more angst to enjoy. 
> 
> until next time, my loves.  
> xx anya


	6. Forty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which he gets a say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy force friday! here's a chapter to celebrate.
> 
> //// warning: a little gore, adult themes///
> 
> if there are mistakes, i'm so sorry :/

 

——————————————————————————————————————————

_When the stars threw down their spears,_

_And water'd heaven with their tears,_

_Did He smile His work to see?_

**_Did He who made the lamb make thee?_ **

_-The Tiger, William Blake_

_——————————————————————————————————————————_

 

 

 _Forty-eight_ _hours_.

For forty-eight hours he had endured in this sickeningly sweet fairytale dreamland he had stumbled across, and all for some stupid map that most likely wasn’t even there.

He had long surpassed the time constraint assigned, and surely he would pay if he didn’t do the damn job at all. His bank account would, at least. But as long as he could get away from the freaks of this place, he was sure he could handle whatever backlash he would receive from his client. _Nothing_ , not even the faded memories of his wild past, could compare to the overwhelmingly peculiar vibes that Guérisse gave off.

Among the less pressing aspects of his concern was the fact that she looked _normal_. Like a decent-looking human. He often pictured witches as old, decrepit creatures with gnarled hands and sagging skin, a lumpy, droopy mass that hid its true form under a dark cloak at all times. But she was none of those things. He would have gone as far as to say she was cute. But he couldn't. Fresh-faced, bare-footed, and teeny tiny, she had a machine gun mouth and a fierce endurance that contradicted her otherwise genial countenance. Tumbling out of her mouth came a bunch of unflattering rot that she directed at him, and no matter how well she healed him he thought very little of her.

The witch, under some hunched impression that he was a helpless fool who merely wanted to look at her map, had allowed him to stay, albeit after she drugged him to an oblivious, sluggish state of mind. He had no clue as to why she didn’t kick him out or even cut out his beating heart and eat it in front of him after she learned in the most sacrilegious way of his true intent. From his point of view, she seemed too trusting of him. The surreal mix of it all struck him as odd, from the way she dressed to the way her emotions toward him fluctuated from mild annoyance to unabashed disgust. But what truly worried him was the strange, cultish ceremony that took place in the middle of a forest, and the role she played in said ceremony. The people, children and elders alike, were what he could only describe as tree huggers who held an admiration and a slight fear of the power that the planet possessed. Their rituals involved planting trees and other plant-life to thank the earth for providing them with resources; and surrounding a massive white oak and decorating it with ribbons and parchments of wishes while chanting some ancient cheerful spell. The witch lead each event with dignified passion and some kind of weightless energy that he did not understand, bringing plants to life before his eyes and mystifying those around her. That was more than enough to convince him to leave.

He was no stranger to magic. Witchcraft put a bad taste in his mouth since his adolescence and the conventional structure of magic had been a thing of his past, a bullshit fairytale used to remedy the reality of life. Light magic rarely worked, and when it did, the results were minimal and temporary; dark magic held a depth unseen and unexplored even by him, and he dared not touch it after his younger self nearly wiped out an entire village with one drop of blood. He would normally never step out of a job, but he hadn’t realized how remarkably unlucky he had been around these freaks. Fuck the two thousand in Royale currency that awaited his return; this was not something to play with.

So while the eerily cheerful people of Guérisse linked arms and danced to festive music, he grabbed his hound and made a staggering dash for the line of trees that stood nearby. A miracle it was that he even escaped the clearing, for it took him all but three minutes of “sprinting” through the woods before he teetered over and fell to the ground, muttering a string of curses that would put his mother’s vocabulary to shame as his hip gave out under the severed nerves attempting to support his rough and untempered gait. Knife fights with forest thugs normally never fazed him; but a certain necromancer had occupied the space in his mind which was usually empty, and he had fallen victim to an attack by dark magic gangsters, the worst kind. He was lucky to even have survived; their knives were cursed, they had shouted at him in ancient tongues, and somehow they had managed to slash open the muscles in his limbs and steal every one of his belongings beside his hound. Supernatural forces must have been at play to keep him alive for the eternity he had stumbled through the forest, bleeding profusely from every limb. Ironically, the girl he meant to kill had practically brought him back from the dead.

As he lay on the ground, Chewie made to grab him by his shirt collar like he had done once before, reluctant and huffing, but he stopped him before he could get the chance. He grunted his declination, mumbling to himself more than anything as he gently shoved the dog away. The sharp throbbing from his hip and his side came back in vivid clarity now that the drugs were wearing off, and as he looked around at the lush wildlife, he realized how rash his decision to run away was. Birds called and crickets chirped loudly, and the limbs of the trees swayed with the wind, seeming to mock him as he fought to stand. When he couldn’t even manage to balance himself against a tree, he swore to kill whomever made him a temporary cripple.

He resolved to get back on his stomach and crawl, in the most pathetic way possible, away from there. It worked for a few minutes, with Chewie strolling next to him, watching curiously at the sweating and grunting man on the ground. And then something—some _one_ stopped him.

“Two halves of a whole,” came a timeworn voice from behind him. He froze instantly and turned to face the owner of the voice.

Maz. He felt indignation bubble inside of him.

That old hag had no business following him into the woods.

“Ben Solo,” she called, creeping closer with careful steps, “Get up, boy."

Maz made her approach and watched him writhe pathetically as he tried to bring himself up. When he couldn't even do that, she eased him back down and pushed the fabric of his shirt up, exposing his hip to her.

She shook her head, tutting at what she saw. "I must not have seen this one. Our little Kira Rey still has much to learn."

He hardly cared. But Maz took from her potion-necklace a minuscule jar wrapped with a scrap of velvety deerskin and closed her eyes, humming in a rhythmic way before spreading the substance over his skin.

Magic. Could he ever _not_ be its victim? It was one thing to practice, but another altogether to find oneself under its scrutiny. However, the potion helped with his mobility and he suddenly felt the sharp, stabbing pain diminish.

"Why are you running?” she asked humorously, as if he were five years old again and running through her corridors, hiding from the commotion of her house guests behind thick curtains. Those days were over. “Are you afraid of what you have found? Afraid that it’s what you’ve been looking for all along?” Chewie poked his nose to Maz’s cheek and sniffed, quickly giving her a kiss before sitting obediently next to his fallen master. "Hmm? Answer me, Ben."

He despised her cryptic words almost as much as he hated the way she addressed him. The leaves rustled and left an ominous silence behind, forcing him to sit in this uncomfortable situation.

“Quit calling me that,” he spoke with an icy tone, working his jaw as he felt the fiery dragon in his gut ignite, forcing himself to remain calm every time he heard someone call him by _that name_. It was hard enough with the witch.

"It is your given name, and I will address you as such. Now, Ben," she continued, “What is troubling you, child?”

“I don’t need you to treat me like everyone else you pity,” he muttered, lip twitching.

She placed a tiny, wrinkled hand onto his chest, halting him with a stern look.

“Listen before you slash me with another one of those cursed daggers you brought into that poor girl’s home,” she said calmly, unfazed by his attitude. Why did no one believe that he hadn’t hurt himself for attention? “I have known you for a long time, Ben Solo. When your mother carried you inside of her, I felt the fire in you. I felt the energy. You carry the blood of heavenly brilliance, and your heart pumps magic through your veins. Since I last saw you, your flames have sputtered and died. So why are you acting a fool in the presence of the one who could very well light your fire once more? Go now, but come back with pure intentions. Meet your match in genuine circumstance—or face the consequences."

If she spoke of _her_ , she was mistaken. He and a witch? He wanted to scoff.

The old witch seemed to sense his incredulity and her eyes sparked with mischief. Kylo’s stomach dropped. But instead of speaking, she pulled a stick from a pile of fallen branches and waved her hand over it, chanting a few words in a foreign tongue before wrapping one of her many beaded chains around the top. Before his very eyes, the piece of wood grew and stabilized, turning into something of a walking stick, the beaded chain now a decorative knob. She tested its weight and balance before grunting her way up to stand and handing the transformed staff to him. He took it with a suspicious glare after she pulled him up with a surprisingly strong grip.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not on one side of this eternal magic war that has been waged. I am a healer, a witch—not a general. I help who I can, when I can. I am on her side, I am on yours. But remember,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, one that twisted his insides. “Every action has a consequence.”

 

———————————————————

 

Somewhere in the middle of his journey back to the shitty excuse for a place he called home—an upscale, uninviting apartment in the luxury capital of Northern Sera, the continent containing regions such as Guérisse and Royale—he had stopped at a squat of a tavern. It was nestled in between an apothecary and an outdated post center and conveniently placed in a slipshod town that passed through the trail to the only station in this out-of-touch part of Sera. The sky had gradually changed from a blazing pink to a lazy purple-blue and the stars had begun to peek out from their hiding places, so Kylo figured it would be beneficial to stop and rest his aching body for a while before heading out.

As of now, he had no deadlines, no one to report to in the morning, nor a group of freaks to torment him and subject him to odd rituals. He knew not what he would do in regards to the actual job, for he never disappointed a client—until now. What he _was_ sure of was the vast amount of time he had and a memory that haunted him for days.

_How in the fuck did he get here?_

_His head was throbbing, that much he knew. As he blinked slowly to take in his surroundings, he groaned at the searing agony that coursed through him, licking his skin with an acid tongue that left flames in its wake. All that faced him was a yellow sky and trees that focused too sharply and blurred too quickly for his taste, his vision alternating between pinpointed leaves and branches to a large green blob. And the fact that the entire lower part of his body on his left side felt like it had been chopped off did not help._

_Every few seconds he found himself shifting an inch or two, but involuntarily and with a grunt that never came from his mouth. It was then that he had realized his ever-loyal hound_

_Then he heard a delicate gasp from above him, and the shadow of a pretty little thing shaded him from the blinding sun. He thought she was a forest nymph at first, one who frolicked and played with the deer at the edge of his mind, but then she inched closer to him and he saw in full clarity the sharpness of her outline and felt the surprisingly strong grip her fingers had on his arms. Definitely real._

_It took him some while to realize what she had been doing to him for the past half-hour, but it startled him when he heard her whispering in ancient tongues, generating an energy so potent he almost saw it emitting off of her in waves. He certainly felt it. That strength._

_The extent of her skill stretched much further than Ren had expected, with her going as far as to draw a hum from the fire that surrounded them, the flames shuddering and growing and singing with an energy unseen to her shut eyes as she focused so intensely on the task at hand._

_And by the spirits of the forest he could never forget what she did._

_The girl mumbled something unintelligible, some witch charm, and bent over to where her breath fanned over his face. It was soft, like her expression, and it was sweet._

_A pair of soft lips pressed gently into his forehead, smoothing out the creases that had formed there from the unbearable pain he had felt only moments ago. A sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it and his eyelids fluttered shut. He felt like he had been laid to rest on a bed of roses, tucked in by an angel, and given an eternity to sleep._

_She spoke with a flowery, feminine voice, one that made him momentarily forget his situation._

_"The hit to your side could have been fatal. Any closer and you would have had to deal with a punctured kidney," she paused, her frame shivering at the thought, "As for your hip, you could have had your big intestine sliced open…”_

_She continued to ramble, but he was hardly listening; he wanted to_ sleep _. And if this angel could kindly close her lips and leave him be for a few hours, he would let her speak to him forever with that sweet voice of hers. But…how unfortunate it was that he would have to kill her for getting involved. It wasn’t her fault she had come across his shredded body, nor was it her fault that she so happened to cross his path at a time when he could leave no witnesses. As of that moment she was required to remain a victim, an unnamed casualty obstructing his success._

 _But he hadn’t realized who she truly was until Maz had walked in later and revealed to him that yes, this was the Kira Rey he was looking for. And then Maz revealed to Kira Rey that yes, he was here for “her” map. What a shame that such a creature had stumbled upon_ his _map. For a second he thought of taking her with him, but what were they to each other but strangers, and where were they to go? It was a rather pitiful thought, one he assumed the drugged haze had generated._

 _It must have been the candlelight that had made her so lovely, or maybe it was his deluded mind that looked at her like she was a goddess, for the next morning she appeared as a plain, scrawny, underdeveloped little girl. Maybe it was the side of him that wanted to deface her in his own mind to make her an easier target; killing a specimen was easier than killing an innocent, killing someone who_ saved _him._

_Was it all a dream? Surely the runt of a girl with flames of fury in her eyes hadn’t treated him so gently, so lovingly, taking her time to whisper incantations over every wound she stitched up and looking at him with a softness that could bring a king to his knees. He found it hard to believe, especially after witnessing her break the most powerful charm he could think to cast on himself. Though ‘powerful’ was too heavy a term, considering his methods. Yet still, she had needlessly proved herself to him with no effort…_

Kylo downed another shot and swallowed harshly, looking around at the dirty tavern he had found himself in. With his hound at his feet and the magic staff resting against his leg, he felt only mildly at ease, still on edge with the fear that his buyer’s people would come find him soon.

The thugs had taken his mobility and his supplies, including every coin of the region that he had saved up and his beloved bow and quiver, a set he had made himself. However, those objects were just that: material, replaceable. And as a result of reoccurring, unbearable tragedies in his life, it seemed so was he.

She was hardly worth all this stress—No, she _wasn’t_ worth all this stress. So why did his mind keep wandering to her?

Perhaps that question would remain unanswered forever. A different woman tore him from his thoughts.

“Kylo Ren,” he heard a feminine voice purr, and soon felt a mischievous set of nails drag across the back of his shoulders. “What’s a hot shot like you doing in a place like this?”

Kylo remained silent, tensing at the way she touched him. He recognized that raspy tone fought to maintain a calm countenance despite his displeasure. Couldn’t she take the hint that he wanted to be left alone? Were the hunched shoulders and attentive guard dog not enough?

“Let me guess”—she hopped onto a barstool and entered his peripheral vision, hand now resting on his arm, fingers twitching with anticipation—“Celebrating? The witch had it coming, that’s for sure. Care to let me in on the festivities?”

Bazine Netal sat perched next to him, clad in a shimmery black outfit that one might find in the city. Her words irritated him, to say the least. It bothered him little that she knew of his job—word spread fast between people like them. What bothered him was that she was so blatant about it like he had won a life achievement award. Suddenly one job had given him a name as this witch slayer, a do-it-all kind of guy, and his notoriety plateau had spiked from the popular demand. But he hadn’t even killed her, not even close, and he was quite frankly running from the person who hired him.

As self-employed black market “specialty” workers, he and Bazine had bumped into one another in obscure places like this for a while now; when he wasn’t feeling too much like himself, maybe they would share a drink or a bed. But he felt nothing for her, and often times found that he desired her to disappear so he wouldn’t have to put up with the incessant whining any longer. But the universe always had different plans.

“Tell me how it was,” she started, her voice lowering as she rasped in his ear. If this was an attempt to turn him on, she was failing miserably. “Did she cry? Or was she a noble stuntwoman? Did you have your way with her before—“

"Go find someone else to project your daddy issues on tonight,” Kylo interrupted bluntly, shocking Bazine into a silent, gawking stare. He was uninterested in hearing people speak so lightly of his work, especially from someone who knew nothing but promiscuous dancing. To kill was not only to take a life, but to snuff out the spirits of a whole network of people attached to them. It took more than a man and a set of combative skills to kill—it took dedication and understanding of the craft and its consequences. And the fact that she assumed he would take advantage of a young woman in such a way repulsed him, and it sickened him to think that she got off at the thought of vulgarity. The air between them soured and it was awkward, Spirits it was awkward. But he neither had the patience nor the kindness to deal with anyone at the moment, _especially_ her.

Without saying another word, the minx slinked away, slipping into the conversation of another brooding man that fit her taste.

 _Are all women that careless?_ he wondered before rolling his eyes and resuming his self-deprecating contemplation.

What fascinated him most about the witch was the way in which she practiced magic. She had talent, that was something he could not deny. It was very raw, very unpracticed, but powerful still. Instead of taking the time to prepare everything in advance, she rummaged through drawers and sprinted to her garden in a rush in between the lulls of energy that she conjured, spilling dirt and dripping candle wax where she went. He supposed that she was unaware of the quirks and kinks in her personal craft, for the girl seemed a little sheltered, but it nonetheless made for an odd sight. The thing that astounded him the most was the immediate shift in her demeanor after discovering who he was. It was comparable to watching a light turn on, but instead she had shattered the bulb and planned to shank him with the broken pieces.

“Ren,” a snobbish voice called from behind him.

Christ. Could he ever catch a break?

Kylo physically curled in on himself, wishing to become invisible if only so he didn't have to speak to this asshole. No such luck. He didn’t even bother turning around because the dull redhead came to him, sliding into one of the barstools next to him and ordering a martini. The bartender, who also happened to be the tavern owner, looked at him like he had two heads because what prude comes to a tavern to order a _martini_?

“Hux.”

The bastard always looked like he had swallowed a rotten lemon. Today was no exception.

“Unfortunate to find you still breathing,” Hux snarked, “I hoped you might have died in a ditch while running one of those filthy rat trade-ins you call a job.”

“The feeling is mutual.“

“But I’m not here to air my grievances,” he continued with a sigh, acting like Ren hadn’t spoken, “I’m here to make a deal.”

“That life is over for me,” he lied, taking a swig of the shit ale he had ordered. The sooner he could deter Hux, the sooner he could rent a room and go the hell to sleep.

“Like hell it is. It’s in regards to _the girl_ ,” he said slyly, hoping that he could get him to listen.

“No.”

He wouldn’t put up with this nonsense. Yet still, he and Hux went back to the times when Ren wasn’t so cynical and Hux wasn’t a prudent asshole bent on ruling the world through mass genocide; back when the two of them served as puppets for the largest pile of dog shit the planet had ever seen. Snoke was constantly searching for the pieces to the map, absolutely wrapped up in finding and destroying Luke Skywalker in order to rid the world of its strongest healer. He thought corruption correlated with lightness, and that dark magic was magic in its purest and most raw form. At one time Kylo had believed him, truly believed him, and obediently collected bits and pieces for him. It was only after he learned that this put a target on his mother’s back that he withdrew, taking with him the shreds of the map that he rightfully earned. Yes, he was estranged from his family, but he nonetheless cared for his mother’s safety. For a while he had faced backlash from Snoke’s minions, Hux included, but once Snoke realized that only Ren ever got things done for him, he wanted him back. The attacks gradually changed to entreaties for his return, and it was hilarious to feel like he had the upper hand for once.

"Would you at least allow me to elaborate?" He sounded impatient, as if he was dealing with an insubordinate schoolboy. Kylo just stared straight ahead, studying his reflection in the mirror behind all those shelves of glass mugs, only half-listening. The curve of the cups distorted his face and made him look like an alien creature with one huge eye and a tiny one. From behind him, he could see a group of drunkards stumbling around a game of pool, loudly and jovially conversing with cherry cheeks and hearty laughs. Bazine was no where to be found—not that he cared. In one corner sat a shadow of intoxicated lovers, their origin unknown, and in the other rested a red-hooded figure with a pair of boots crossed atop a table. And Hux droned on and on about nonsense.

“…and instead of killing her, take the girl with you and hand her over to us. That's it."

Ren neither cared nor bothered to ask the details of the assignment.

"Compelling, but no." His tone mixed mild amusement with a bored attitude and he thought it quite funny when Hux seemed to convulse.

“What if I offered you a nice sum of whatever currency you’d like? Ten?”

Kylo raised his eyebrows at the offer. Ten million to take a girl somewhere? He hadn’t heard numbers like that since—

No.

It didn’t matter anymore. _They_ didn’t matter anymore.

When he didn’t answer, Hux raised the amount.

“Twenty-five,” he urged, taking on a tone of forcefulness that fit him so well. “Thirty.”

“I told you no.”

Hux fidgeted in his seat, agitated that he couldn’t break him. And then, after minutes of working his jaw and huffing, he finally rolled his eyes and turned to face him in the most exasperated way possible. As he opened his mouth, he seemed to consider his options as a red flush of irritation creeped up his neck. His mouth closed. Kylo sat and watched, amused at witnessing this inner turmoil unravel before him. Hux twitched his head forward as his ears reddened, the flush now growing.

Then, very quietly and avoiding eye-contact, he muttered, “You’re the best in the business.”

Kylo wanted to laugh. He must have truly been desperate to pull that out of his ass, for he knew that Hux would never stoop so low as to actually _compliment_ him.

“What did you say, Armitage?” He tried keeping the humor out of his voice.

“You heard me,” he bit out, ears flaming as he breathed heavily through his nostrils. Perhaps today would mark a novelty death-by-humiliation.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I did,” he said, cupping his hand around his ear in mock innocence.

“I said that you’re the best in the business.” Just the sight of Hux squirming nearly did it for him. At this point, to Kylo, the content of the assignment mattered less than the fact that he had a job. Surely she wouldn’t be totally unbearable for the few days or weeks he had to put up with her.

If she would go with him. _When_ she would go with him.

 _Damned if I do, dead if I don't_ , he thought.

“Forty-eight and you have a deal,” he smirked, ignoring the gushing dread that pooled in his gut.

“Forty—Now you’re just exploiting me.”

“What can I say?" He took one last swig of his drink to hide the smug grin on his lips, "I’m a whore for financial comfort.”

Then, with a quick glance down at the smooth tabletop, he looked into Hux's nearly black eyes and said, “I'll need supplies.”

 

————————————————————

 

The deal had been made. It was not his proudest moment, nor was it his most shameful. The plan was complicated and hard to follow, but nevertheless he agreed, hoping that in a few weeks’ time his bank account would be bursting at the seams.

 _Selfish_ , a voice in his head hissed, but he ignored it. Selfishness was better than poverty, he supposed.

Kylo huffed as the white brick cottage came into view, and once he crossed the threshold of the yard he knew he would never regret anything more than returning.

Back to square one.

Maz’s words echoed in his head as a cruel reminder and he tried to shake them off, but they wouldn’t cease.

_“Face the consequences…”_

_…._

_Fuck._

Hell surely had a room vacant for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so guys, i really struggled with this one. it was a labor of love, but a labor nonetheless. to all the commenters, kudos-leavers, and general appreciators of this fic: i appreciate you all so much, and i never even imagined *anyone* would read this, but here we are. i love you. <3 
> 
> xx anya


	7. Planet Omniscience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any mistakes/gaps :/

Burning.

His arm burned like he had poured acid over his skin. And perhaps he had, just not conventionally. Perhaps the sigil that flared a scorching red against his pale forearm had something to do with it. Within this deal he had anticipated conditions, terms, the like; but he had not anticipated the fucking magic. _Everywhere_ he went. Dark or light, it trailed him like his hound did, but its presence was far more menacing.

A sketchy time limit bound him to death; an unwavering threat bound him to inevitable blackmail. Everything about this was a mistake. However, his entire _life_ was a mistake, beginning at his birth and continuing into his now twenty-eighth year of life, the winding path he walked built by every unsatisfactory choice he made. What harm was one more?

The answer, he would soon find, came in the form of an angry witch, sloppy with the weight of exhaustion but strong nonetheless.

The moment he walked up the path to the deceptively quiet bungalow he fell backward, thrust away from the front door with a jolt. Back he flew, into a nearby flower bed, his newly replenished supplies clanking loudly. Fortunately for him, Maz had taken the final flecks of pain from his hip, so the impact of his fall hurt less than it could have. Still, it left him disoriented and he blinked rapidly, trying to shake out the spots from his vision.

His hound growled and threw a fit at an impending threat he could not see, one he was unaware of until it was right on him. In his brief moment of distraction, two strong pairs of hands grabbed at his shoulders and he fought them off drunkenly, causing them to losetheir grip many times but ultimately he wound up right back into them. His fall had put him in a lugubrious state, his eyes droopy and his movement sluggish, and his limbs felt heavier than lead. It was the magic, he realized, some jinx or hex she cast on him to keep him immobile. And it worked.

She was stronger, much stronger than he suspected even she knew.

The next place he found himself was in a chair, tied and curiously in reach of multiple items to set himself free. He remained still, however, deciding to allow her the pleasure of thinking she had the upper hand.

The witch was pacing, distracted, nibbling nervously at her thumb, her hair drawn up in a curious three bun style that struck him as oddly familiar. She let her eyes flit around the room, staring at anything but him, he noticed. And she was whispering. Whispering something unintelligible—Kylo had means to believe it was anything but innocent. But then she stopped and glanced over at him, acting as if he had caught her thieving.

“Quit staring at me,” she snapped, cheeks tinged rosy and eyes wide and soft—uncertain, almost. Briefly, he found her embarrassment endearing. But then she scowled, her skin bunching up into a tight little squint, and the moment was lost. Back to the conniving little witch he knew her as.

“Oh, but duchess,” he quipped, his mouth quirking into a small smirk as her expression darkened, “You really are a sight to behold.”

Her pink lips parted slightly, an unconscious subset in her actions. But then she closed her mouth, pressing it into a thin line as she balled her tiny fists.

“Are you teasing me?” she questioned, her voice shrill with incredulity. Now her cheeks flared red, her ears scarlet.

“Hardly.” Of course he was, but only to prove a point. For science, and all. “It’s just—“

He cut himself off as she folded her arms over her chest, shooting daggers at him and likely plotting his death. Negative energy rolled off of her in waves, hitting him in the face and choking him like a dark cloud of smoke and ash. Or maybe it was a hex, one she cast upon him that very moment.

“Just what, _Solo_?” she said, and he winced, the name reminding him too much of his father. Nevertheless, he continued.

"The hair, and the flowers, and the whole getup. Isn't it time you stopped playing dress up?" Digging a deeper hole, that’s what he was notorious for. It was no wonder he attracted assholes; he was one himself.

With a resurfacing frown etched on her face, she seemed thoughtful, if not upset.

“That’s how I’ve always worn it,” she defended, looking to the floor as her fingers toyed with the dark, honey brown nubs. Then her eyes flitted to his, a growing flame behind them that only strengthened the longer she glared. “And I'm doing perfectly well in my own clothes, thank you. I have a village of people who love me regardless of my appearance, a home, a mentor. Don’t think I can say the same for you.”

Another pause. She squinted her eyes. "Why am I even explaining myself? I owe you nothing. You, however, owe me an explanation."

Maybe insulting her wasn't the way to go. She seemed guarded, but something about the way she looked at him suggested a curiosity, a yearning for something she had yet to discover within herself. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage. It was a shot in the dark though, for her aversion towards him was contradictory to his theory. Her fluctuating energy exhausted him. Her constant accusations left him irate. Yet still—he switched to a smoother, more elegant form of communication, hoping to reduce her to a languid, easier-going version of herself.

"Anything for you, duchess,” he purred, lips twitching with the beginnings of a half-smirk. It faded when she spoke.

 

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

 

“The planet spoke to me,” Maz’s withered voice brushed through the silence between them. The two witches sat outside in the grass. Rey’s pocket-bound cat now explored the earth and pounced on any bug she saw, but ultimately resorted to warming Rey’s thigh and nuzzling her head into her open palm as her little claws toyed with a fraying end. Distractedly, Rey stared as a honeybee fussed over a flower. The air was hot and sticky, and she felt as if she were being consumed. She fidgeted with the soft blades beneath her, endlessly thinking about the conversation from hell that she had made with her uninvited house guest just minutes prior. He was still there, albeit in a state of unconsciousness.

“And what did she say?” Rey asked warily, only half paying attention.

“She wants you to go.”

Her heart stopped beating momentarily.

During that hellish conversation with Ben Solo, she had come to find that he did not, in fact, go by Ben Solo. His name was Kylo Ren, and that name was one much more familiar to her. Sometimes she heard it whispered through town like a menacing threat, carried by the wind and passed amongst people like a hot coal on bare hands. She knew then, in that unspoken circumstance, why he wanted her map. Some called him a ‘bounty hunter with a bounty on his head.’ Others said he was a contract killer, ruthless and mean and dangerous. Either way, Rey's patience with him had all but dissipated when she caught him trespassing, this time of his own volition. Thus, she had laughed right in his face when he asked her for that shredded chart again, this time offering up the pieces he had gathered and entreating that they go together. _Go_ _together_ , to fulfill this need for adventure that he "knew she felt too," whatever that meant. And when she laughed, he found it most upsetting that she denied him such pleasures. A few insults fell from his mouth, though he was in no position to speak. That had led to shouting and barking and then a swift palm to his jaw, effectively knocking him out and silencing any and all commotion. She felt only _slightly_ bad for injuring him, having to convince herself that she was just protecting what he was threatening. Two can play, but one will win.

And she would win. Even if his stupidly, perfectly messy hair got in the way. Or anything else. Like his pouty mouth. And his pretty eyes, too pretty to belong to such a man.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

“You want me to _what_?” Rey exclaimed, eyelids fluttering so rapidly she had to rub her temples to think straight.

“You heard me, Kira Rey,” said the stubborn old woman, and Rey wished in this moment that Maz was someone she didn’t know very well, someone whose judgment mattered little to her. But Maz was the closest thing she’d ever had to a parental figure, or a familial figure really, and Rey valued Maz’s opinion more than she sometimes did her own. “But _I_ don’t want you to do anything. Our great lady Almearth does.”

"I don't—I can't," she stuttered, unable to understand the woman’s reasoning behind this, “My people.”

"My dear, all of this will still be here when you return. I'll be sure of it.” Maz glanced around at Rey’s garden—a vast strip of land growing lush, delicious plants—as if gesturing to it. “But you must go. Leave with him. He does not seem like an ally now, but he will take you where you need to be.”

“And where is that?” she asked, panic sinking in her veins. She felt blind, scattered.

“Where the planet has always willed you to go,” she paused, her kind eyes searching her face, and then she stood from her place on the ground and brushed her skirts off, humming mischievously. “You will know once you are there.”

“Are you telling me to wander Almearth with a man I’ve just met until I feel something?” Rey questioned and stood, hating to feel so against the woman’s words. Sure, Maz gave some wonky advice in addition to her wise teachings. But this iced the cake.

“No, I’m telling you to take this opportunity—and the map—and see where it guides you. Remember what I told you all those years ago? Every single event in our lives happens for a reason. The map chose you. It chose him, too. I have no clue why. But the journey is in the gaps of the map, child,” Maz said, patting Rey’s hand, “Sometimes the destination matters less than what you did to get there.”

“This is absolutely mad,” she protested, her voice going up in pitch. “I can’t just up and leave! This is my home. I have people who look to me for guidance! What will they think if I leave and risk never coming back?"

"Listen. I'm not saying that it would be necessarily wise to go, but this is the _only_ opportunity you will ever have to find Luke Skywalker."

Rey looked away. She was right, but to go with _him_? It would take years off her life. They butted heads more than she’d ever done with anyone else.

"Rey, it is your destiny. You and I both know this. And who cares if you've got the devil with you? Look who took him out." She gave her a smug grin and lightly punched Rey's shoulder in congratulations. That gave rise to her confidence, but only slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kylo might know a little bit more about magic than he likes to let on…*winks*
> 
>  
> 
> I hope this doesn’t seem like it’s too fast! short chapter. I really needed them start the actual journey, seeing as we’re already seven chapters in, and this was the best way i saw fit. I love reading your comments. they make me grin like an idiot. i say it all the time but thank you thank you thank you to the peeps who support this fic, it’s so uplifting. 
> 
> so friends, loves, tell me what you thought and maybe your favorite reylo song or something. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> (damn okay i really can’t wait for what’s to come and i’m excited to have an audience that i can share this story with. see ya!)
> 
> xx anya


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